


Sword and Sheild

by mollymaymaukme



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymaymaukme/pseuds/mollymaymaukme
Summary: wip of a reader insert fic





	1. Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> can't post the entire thing until I figure out my timeline

{Early Roman Empire, A century after Christ’s crucifixion.}

 

_ How strange. . . _

A voice in the darkness hums. 

_ You’re not one of mine. _

You’re eyes open to the most amazing sight your mortal eyes had ever known. The darkness was sprinkled with stars and swirled with colorful galaxies. A soft mist surrounds and cradles your naked form.

_ Then whose? _

The voice wonders again. You look around for the woman speaking to you but you are alone. 

“Where am I?’ You murmur in amazement, still awestruck by your surroundings. The voice does not answer you. Instead a soft golden glow begins to emit from the mist, coaxing you to lay back down and close your eyes. However when you close your eyes it's as though you are opening them.

Below you are two winged figures standing atop a massive wall surrounding an oasis. 

_ Oh _

She chuckles

_ How peculiar. . .though I am not opposed to see how this plays out. _

The white winged figure’s back is to you, but the one with black wings is slightly turned to stare at his companion. You are captivated by his scarlet hair and golden eyes. When you blink again you are in a far different scene.

You are facing the pair once again. Yet their wings are gone, the only way you can recognize them is by the golden eyes of the man whose crimson hair is falling from underneath his hood. The other has a kind, rounded face with sky blue eyes. 

_ They are yours. _

“Mine?” You echo stepping closer to the pair. They do not see you so you freely study their features. 

_ Yes. Yours to protect and shield from harm. _

“Harm. . .?” You question cautiously. You step even closer to the pair and without realizing it your lifting a hand to scarlet curls. The world around you ripples like water when you nearly touch him. The scene dissolving into the familiar starry blackness you’d originally been in. 

_ I’m rather intrigued by this development. So I will help you. _

The mist grows gold around you once again. However now the golden light is swirling around deeper crimson that is soon a raging inferno. Without preamble the mixture soon wraps around your leg, crawling up until your entire body is encased in gold and crimson flame. You cry out in surprise as the heat steadily grows. 

_ A gift. _

There is the vaguest sensation of hands caressing your cheeks. The gentle touch that was so soothing contrasted by the unbearable heat.

_ I shall forge you in hellfire and temper you in holy water.  _

The voice explains. Your eyes sting with tears that refuse to form.

_ You alone will hold both the divine light and the flames of damnation. . .Yes. You shall burn bright indeed. Know your creation, know your purpose, and discover the End. _

A scream begins to claw at your throat as you feel as though you are being boiled within your own skin. Your eyes blinded as you are overcome with memories and knowledge that are not wholly your own.

_ I am eager to see what fruits this shall bear. _

With those parting words you feel yourself falling. The flames still eating away at you as your voice cries in sharp pitches of pain. All you see is the flickering lights of the flames and. . . silver. Silver feathers surrounding you that are also burning. 

The flames seem to blaze brighter and the pain reaches its climax before they begin to soak into your skin. Your blood is quite literally boiling as you are suddenly overly aware of the large appendages now situated between your shoulder blades. 

Just as this realization hits you, you hit the ground. 

Scorching the dirt and forming a small crater where you have fallen. Silver feathers are drenched in crimson and the wings are bent at odd angles where you can see stark white bone. Smoke is billowing from the dirt as the last of the flames lick across your skin before they are extinguished. Your cries of agony are oddly dry. Not a single tear running down your soot stained face. 

“Somebody help me.” You whimper. The pain engulfing you is no longer the hot brand of the flames. Now it is sharp and deep like a thousand swords buried within you. With great effort you roll onto your stomach, realizing your arms are the only limbs vaguely intact as your right leg seems to be twisted at an impossible angle. Your fingers claw into the blackened earth of the crater you created. 

Moans and anguished screams of pain flowing freely from you lips. Dirt is uncomfortably grinding into exposed muscle and the ground grows wet with blood. So much blood. Your adrenaline induced quest is short lived as you collapse against the incline. “Someone. . .help me. . .Please!” You screech as your body is wracked with dry heaves at the pain.

You don’t know how long you lay there in agony before you feel the dirt shift as someone kneels beside you. Hands helping to pull your bloodied torso up onto even ground as you screech in pain. Your eyes open, you hadn’t even realized you’d closed them, to see a familiar set of golden orbs gazing down at you.


	2. She Comes with the Storm

{Just after 3pm on the day that should have never been}

Once they had finished their food (or more accurately Aziraphale had finished his food) and drank their way through two bottles of champagne, Aziraphale asks if Crowley would like to come back to the shop. The angel’s questioning smile too bright for the demon to resist. So they find themselves walking back to the shop. They might have miracled their way through a few blocks but they mostly just enjoyed the long walk. 

Occasionally Aziraphale’s hand brushed against the back of Crowley’s own.

There would be a flash of yellow from behind his sunglasses as Crowley’s fingers would catch on the edge of Aziraphale’s. If he held them there even a fraction of a second longer then he risked curling their hands together. 

But they don’t. Instead their hands return to their place at their sides. Only for the dance to begin again after another few steps. 

A whole temptation of its own. To hold hands. What a daring thought. 

The shop door opens with the tinkling of the bell and closes in the same fashion. Crowley had been ushered in first but he is quick to turn around. To watch his angel’s face take in his most definitely not burnt bookshop. Aziraphale’s chest hitches as his eyes rove across the shelves, lingering on new additions, a sigh of relief to see the original’s still in their places. And then Aziraphale’s eyes land on Crowley. Some small tilt of his lips that has no competition against the way his eyes crinkle with such overwhelming joy and relief and--

Crowley’s lips are pressed against his.

The demon’s kiss soft compared to how forcefully he had practically lunged at the angel. Aziraphale’s fingers smooth across his cheekbone. Drifting upwards to gently grasp onto his scarlet locks and Crowley makes a quiet sound. Something not quite pained but close. It hurt how much he needed to show Aziraphale. Needed to show his Angel that he would do anything for him. Prove that he wasn’t going to let anyone, demon or archangel or otherwise, lay their hands on him again. 

Aziraphale presses against Crowley’s lips just slightly, once more, before pulling back. His finger tracing over the snake on his skin. The angel practically beaming up at Crowley. Shushing him when Crowley attempts to say something, possibly apologize.  

    “I love you too.” 

The angels soft words soon forgotten in the thunderclap loud enough to shatter the windows of the shop. 

Many things happened at once. Crowely was knocked back into a bookshelf which toppled at the sheer force with which the demon hit it. Causing a domino effect for the other shelves in the row. At the same moment Aziraphale crumbled to his knees as a seering white light filled the room. And finally you appeared, kneeling over the angel. Your hands white knuckled as you pull him to you. Grey, pearlescent wings stretched out to block Aziraphale from the lightning strike that had triggered all of this to begin with.

You do not release the trembling angel as the smell of burnt flesh slowly permeates the air of the shop. If anything you clutch him to you tighter, in shock at what has transpired. Moments ago you were sitting on a hill looking up at the clouds of this temperate day and suddenly you moved, not entirely of your of volition, through the molecules to be here. 

“I made it” You whisper as relief washes over you. Suddenly overly aware of the demon posturing mere feet away you force yourself to release your grip on Aziraphale’s coat. You step away with an unsure stumble as you repeat “I made it in time” quietly to yourself. Still in disbelief over what has transpired.

Crowley gives you a wary glance before turning his attention to Aziraphale. Frantically running his hands over the angel to check for any injuries and upon finding none (and the angel swatting his worried hands away) they both turn to you.

“What just-” Aziraphale tried to speak but finds himself unable to after the shock. “Was I almost. . .”

“Struck down from heaven” Crowley softly fills in. His yellow eyes softening as he looks over Aziraphale, but a quick peek at the celestial plane (even though it burns a bit) assures him that halo and pure white wings are still intact.

What is not intact however is you. Overcome with a mixture of relief and pain you drop to your knees with a groan. Aziraphale quickly rushes over to you, momentarily pausing as he gasps in surprise. Bent over in pain your back is visible to the pair, and it is not a pretty sight. Burnt and bubbled flesh is oozing blood that is spattered across the silver feathers. The blood is steaming and crimson is soon staining whatever it touches as black as pitch. 

Aziraphale snaps out of his haze and glowing white hands caress the wound between your wings. Suddenly there is no pain, only the soft feeling of fingertips brushing over your smooth back and shoulder blades. 

You shiver at his touch. It had been so long since another had touched you so gently with such overwhelming care and kindness. 

“Ow” you mutter lamely as the angel helps you sit back upright. “That was a rough one. . . You musta really pissed someone off.” You mumbled as your gaze slid over to Crowely who was staring down at you. Familiar golden eyes staring down at you as though you were a stranger. And to him, you were. As far as he was aware he had never seen you in the entirety of his existence. 

It hurts to see both of them look at you with no recognition. They certainly weren’t strangers to you. But you couldn’t blame them for forgetting you. Everyone forgot you eventually. It wasn’t your fault just like it wasn’t theirs. The blame lay on your imperfect existence. A side effect of being created by something other than Her.

“Thank you for. . .” Aziraphale stumbles as it seems his tongue is moving faster than his brain at the moment “I mean for. . .saving me. . .for, uh-”

“Taking the Fall” Crowely helpfully supplies as he crouches down next to the edge of one of your wings. His fingers run across the feathers that had been spattered with blood. Those that were touched by the liquid darkened to a stormy grey and the drops seemed to etch themselves into the down as black splotches and smears. It was a rather startling color in comparison to the darkened silver that you’d started off with. “Or whatever this is.” He traces a covert that was stained black as he studies the shift of colors. He’d never seen a Fall look like this (as far as he could actually remember).

You defensively fold your wings in to escape his examination. But it's as if his touch still lingers. Both of them so gentle. Something you hadn’t experienced for far too long. You ached for more, knowing that all this was temporary. It was always temporary.

“Happens more often than you’d think” You mumble as you shakily get to your feet. Aziraphales hands helping to steady you. His face creased with unease as he seems to finally be realizing he was nearly struck from grace. It hurts to see such ethereal features in turmoil so you act without thinking.

If you had been thinking than you would have known the proper way to end this encounter would have been to disappear. Run off. Go back to your corner of the world until there was another lightning strike to fend off.

But you weren’t thinking so instead you place a hand on Aziraphales cheek to gain his attention. “Don’t fret. You can’t fall. Not as long I am around. Not as long as he is around” Your eyes flick to Crowley who is standing off a couple steps to the left of you as he tries to process the situation.

With Her help you had been reborn with the inherent knowledge of your purpose. It did take a century to work out all the details but eventually you untangled the perplexing notion that this angel and demon were  _ Yours _ . Yours to protect from those who would seek to tear them apart. It was of utmost importance that they stay together, this strange pair, it was ineffable. So you try to wrap up a century worth of cosmic musing in a simple sentence.

 “I’m am the manifestation of both of your wills.” You’re thumb smooths across his cheeks as blue eyes stare into yours .“You can’t fall because he won’t let you.” You know you’ve only served to confuse them further. It was frustrating to not be able to comfort them and assuage their fears of the angel falling. But it was just too difficult to put your existence into simple terms.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a minute. Back it up.” Crowely says, snapping out of it and sliding up to stand by Aziraphel and into your view. “You’re. . . _ Us _ ?” His face scrunches in confusion and his eyes narrow. “How. When. . .Why?!”

You shrug your shoulders, ashen wings ruffling with the motion, “An idea of me began not long after creation and I was fully realized sometime in ancient rome.” You supply unhelpfully. This was the first time you’d had this conversation with either of them. You were unsure of the best approach.

“Pardon me but I am having trouble  grasping the situation. You are the culmination of us?” Another shrug answers Aziraphel. “So you are in the broadest of supernatural terms. . . our child?”

Both you and Crowley instantly reel away from the angel, mirroring disgust and shock on each other feature. Of course that would be what would first cross Aziraphel’s mind. “Goodness no. I am merely influenced by your two’s existence. I am not entirely either of you. I am my own being. It was just because of you two that I was allowed to  _ be  _ in the first place.”

“Does that make any sense to you Angel?” Crowley murmurs even though all three of you were in close proximity. “Because I’m only getting the vaugest notions of sense.”

“How about we all sit and have a cup of tea to help settle our minds? Hmm?” Aziraphal offers with a grin wrinkled with the stress of the situation.

“Sorry. I’m afraid I can’t.” You can’t bear to see the grin wiped from the angels face so instead you look down at your feet, wings folding into your back a little bit tighter “I am unable to ingest mortal food anymore.” You explain.

If one were to ask the demon later why he did what he did next, he would lie. Perhaps say that it was because his angel wouldn’t have been happy if he had been cold and callus to the strange girl. He might say it was an overly exaggerated facade of concern. But in actuality it was because he felt drawn to the ashen winged girl, tugged into her orbit by that thing known as gravity. 

He couldn’t help but sling an arm around your shoulders, his awkward attempt at offering your sullen expression comfort “Not missing out on much anyways. . .hold on a minute.” He looks you up and down with a narrowed gaze once again “Anymore?” 

The demon is warm, however it is not uncomfortable, almost as if you were simply dozing in the sun on a mild day. The weight of his arm around you sends shivers down your spine. There had been a time, long ago, when his arm had been wrapped around you before. . .


End file.
